


Daniel James Howell's Dreams

by orphan_account



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff, Kinda? to both of those tags, M/M, Old Age, Reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 21:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10316987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "The air was crisp, my eyes were wet, and when I turned round to see him, I think I could have touched paradise."Dan Howell, now 73, has managed to suppress his past to the best of his abilities. That is, until his grandchildren start asking him odd questions.





	1. Chapter 1

                Each passing day was a vessel, Dan felt. A vessel that, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fill. He’d lie down after each day, exhausted, making a mental itinerary of all he had done. And by the end of it, the vessel would only be half-full (or half-empty, depending on how he felt).

                Each passing day, each molasses-slow hour, was a chore to Dan. And that’s despite all the chores he had to do during the day. He couldn’t keep a maid anymore due to money, so he had to let her go. (Sometimes, she came round with homemade shortbread and they had tea together. That broke up the monotony.) His grandkids only tried their hands at doing chores when they wanted extra pocket money. And if the reader hasn’t inferred yet, Mr. Howell was not a wealthy man.

                On top of all that, his beloved had left him 16 years ago. So he was all alone, and had to do everything himself.

                Each passing day felt like a waste of a human life. Sometimes Dan would wonder to himself, “What am I living for?” His grandchildren, probably. But that didn’t seem like much.

                Dan doesn’t mean to be disrespectful to his grandchildren. He loved them, and every 2 weeks they’d visit him. Usually on a Wednesday. That broke up the monotony too. He’d tell them stories about his youth, about when he was a famous Youtuber, and he’d teach them how to play card games. Card games… it was never a thing that interested him when he was younger. Neither was bingo. But here he was at the age of 73, an avid fan of both. When one ages, he supposes, you begins to take on the traits of all those around you. You’ve got nothing left to aspire to, no-one left to impress. You might as well assimilate and learn how to garden. And Dan loved gardening.

                He has a few deliberately placed cactuses around his house. On the rare occasion where he has a visitor, he prays silently that they don’t ask him about them. His grandchildren already knew that the cactuses were forbidden territory.

                It was 4PM on a Wednesday, and Dan was nursing a small whiskey. He was patiently waiting for the sound of his front door opening, for the bustle of adrenaline-filled teenagers to filter through his house. His house felt so empty these days. Sometimes, he even craved their visits. They usually came after their dinner, which suited Dan just fine, as it meant he didn’t need to cook them anything, which was another banal chore. And one that would amount to nothing when his nightly introspection came around.

                Derek, Susie and Kim. Old fashioned names, he felt, but he was endeared nonetheless when his daughter-in-law announced them. One, after the other, after the other. She’d has Derek when Dan was 56, and Derek was 17 now. Susie was 15, and Kim was at the tender age of 13. Funnily enough, none of them had seemed to be going through their teenage angst period. Maybe that was an artefact of the past, Dan mused.

                He’s about to take another sip of his drink before the front door opens, saving him. ‘Thank heavens,’ he sighs. He hates the taste of whiskey. He’s not sure why he buys it for himself.

                “Hey, granpops!”

                All three burst into the room in a flurry of excitement, and Dan has trouble trying to kiss them all. They make a great fuss for about 5 minutes, asking how he is and telling them about their own lives. They eventually settle down. Kim pulls out a book, and Derek and Susie sit next to him and watch the telly. When it happens, Dan feels a bit lonesome inside. He can’t articulate why.

                When the adverts come on, Derek’s the first one to speak up.

                “Got any stories for us today, old man?”

                Dan smiles a bit.

                “Can’t really think of anything right now… give me half an hour, say.”

                Derek smiles back, and he thinks it’s going to go all back to normal, until Susie quips:

                “Derek just called you old and you ignored it!”

                He looks confused for a moment, until she elaborates.

                “Pops, you’re always so polite to people. Haven’t you argued with anyone in your life?”

                It’s a strange question. He contemplates it for a few, everyone looking at him expectantly. Even Kim had put her book down, gazing up at him.

                “Well, I had a few arguments in my younger years-“

                “Yeah? That could be your story for today, then,” Derek says. Dan laughs, albeit humourlessly.

                “Ha, maybe. Eh, none of them are really that interesting… apart from one. I’d fell out with a few people, but there was only one man I’d fell out with twice.”

                No-one says anything for a bit.

                “Heh. Kids, if I’m boring you, just say.”

                “No way,” Kim says, “I want to hear about it.”

                “Yeah, me too.”

                “Yeah.”

                Dan looks at them all individually. For once, they didn’t seem to be simply humouring him.

                “Oh alright, then.”

                They gather around him, and his chest swells with pride.

                “I used to live in an apartment complex, yeah? I think I’ve told you that. That’s where I filmed the majority of my Youtube videos… anyway. My apartment bordered another apartment, in which resided my greatest enemy. I had tried to befriend him when I first moved in. I went to his house with homemade cupcakes, offered to help him with the DIY, the whole she-bang. He was amiable, but there was always something slightly off about him. Something callous, something cold… I’m not sure how to explain it.

                “I’ve told you I mostly played video games on my channel, haven’t I? Well, there was one day I was playing a horror game. I don’t remember what it was called, something to do with a fast food chain. Anyway, I was screaming a lot during it. When I’d finished recording, I heard a knocking at the door. Guess who it was? Yep, my next door neighbour. There was a vein pulsing on his forehead, if I remember correctly

                “He goes, “I know you’re an exception to the rule, but _some_ of us have real jobs, and we need to get sleep for them. So could you _kindly_ quieten down?” I don’t remember exactly what I responded with, something along the lines of ‘you’re just mad you’re wasting your life away working for a tax insurance company’ Granted, I didn’t even know what his job was, but I appeared to have hit a nerve. The vein on his forehead seemed to burst.

                “He began full on roaring at me, and I was roaring back. An absolute fury of swear words. It went on for a bit, until we heard police sirens outside our block. Our speech sort of fizzled out, and we just sort of looked at each other. Then he heard a hoard of people enter the apartment from below.

                “They had a few floors to climb before they reached us, so I… I’m not even sure why I did it. I wanted to leave him to the wolves. But I didn’t. I dragged him in my apartment, locked the door, and hid us both away in my bedroom before he had a chance to protest. When he realised, he almost started bawling again, till I shut him up. “The police are looking for _us_ , you dolt,” I went, “Do you want a breach of the peace? Will your tax job want to keep you then?”

                “He realised what was happening, so we both crawled underneath my bed like children. Then we heard chapping at the door. I don’t even think they gave a single ‘open up’ order before they kicked the door in.

                “My neighbour. He always seemed so resilient, so self-assured. But there he was, underneath my bed, and even though I’d turned all the lights off… I could see him trembling. I could see the damp in his eyes. So,” and Dan rests his head in his hands for a moment, flushing at the memory, “so I held him.”

                “Wait, what?”

                “It’s, it’s not like I… I _wanted_ to,” Dan stammers, “I didn’t want them coming into my room and hearing someone snivelling, did I?

                “So I held him. And he didn’t even protest. He just lay in my arms and silently wept. The police eventually found their way into my room, shouting about how they ‘knew we were in there’ and all that. But they never found us. They eventually left.

                “When they were finally gone, we stayed like that for about 10 minutes. Then he came to his senses and rolled his way out. At the door, he thanked me for what I’d done, apologised for what he’d said, yadayada. I did the same thing back. Then, we squeezed each other’s hands, and I didn’t talk to him again for a few months.”

                It’s silent for a few moments.

                Then, as loud as the peals of a church bell, laughter bellies out of all three of them.

                Dan laughs a little, too.

                “Jesus,” Derek says, trying to recover, “you never told us you were a Lothario in your younger years.”

                Dan flushes again. “Oh, wheesh it.”

                They watch a few more episodes of whatever bargain hunting show is on, then he makes them all a cup of tea. By the time 7PM rolls around, they’re on their merry way again.

                When Dan shuts the door, he feels the atmosphere in his house has shifted somewhat. Not an unpleasant shift, in all consideration. How long had it been since he’d properly talked about him? He wasn’t quite sure. His grandchildren knew he had married sometime in the past, but apart from a few vague details, they didn’t know a thing. They knew not to approach that one.

                Dan looks upon the cactuses on the windowsill with something akin to fondness before downing his whiskey and heading to bed.

                In his bed, he runs through all that he’d done that day. Did the dishes – twice. Cleaned out the fridge. Ordered some shopping. Organized his wardrobe. Tidied his sitting area. Entertained his grandchildren. The vessel was barely filled.

                But then he remembered. For the first time, in a long time, he’d opened up about _him_. That part of his past he’d tried so hard to forget. Suddenly, the vessel didn’t feel so empty after all. He drifts off.

                He has pleasant dreams that night. Dan hadn’t dreamed in a long time. He dreamt of hot chocolates in Manchester, of bakeries in London, of cherry blossoms in Japan. Through the richly decorated landscapes, so textured, so sumptuously rendered that he could almost smell them, he seen his old love float past. First as a ghost, weaving his way through the trees. Secondly as a bystander and a pedestrian. Then, finally, he was in front of him, completely vivid, all the rays of the sunlight seeming to wrap itself around his head.

                Dan could reach out and touch him, if he wanted to. But he doesn’t. His old lover just stands and smiles at him.

                When Dan wakes, he’s smiling too. And his vessel already feels half-full.


	2. Chapter 2

                It was a slow two weeks, even slower than usual. After his initial epiphany, everything seemed to wither - as everything does when one enters old age. In regards to everything else, it didn’t matter much to Dan whether they faded or not. But this? What had just happened to him, what his grandkids had unwittingly inflicted on him? This _did_ matter. He almost considered digging out the old photo album. But he didn’t. On some days, even looking at the cactuses adorned everywhere filled his heart with piercing sorrow.

                Along with this, he’d given up his nightly mental itinerary. What did it matter, if it was half-empty? The earth was a half-empty vessel too, and soon enough, he’d be a part of it. He was getting by. Wasn’t that all that mattered?

                His old maid had come round a few days ago. She could tell something was off, but she was never the most acute of women, no matter how fond Dan was of her. They had a nice time regardless. She’d brought round a box of flavoured teabags that she didn’t want. So every morning since then, Dan had been drinking vanilla tea instead of ordinary tea. It was exciting to him.

                It was 4PM again, on a Wednesday. He hadn’t bothered with the whiskey this time, drinking more vanilla tea instead. If he had a whiskey, he might end up drinking another, and then another. Then he’d be one with the earth sooner than he’d like. For a moment he ponders if the afterlife _does_ exist. It wasn’t something that crossed his mind often. Would he see him on the other side? What would he do if he did? What would they both do? What-

                The door opens, and the typical bustle rings through his old house again. He’s eternally grateful for these 3 bundles of energy, he truly is, even if he doesn’t show it much. The ritual cuddles, kisses and ‘how are yous’ commence. Soon enough they’re all settled down, mindlessly consuming some crime drama that’s on the telly.

                Derek, the insolent young thing, doesn’t even wait for the adverts.

                “I want to hear about the second time.”

                Dan’s mind feels foggy. “Huh?”

                “The second time you fell out with him.”

                It doesn’t really click for a few moments. Then he realises. _Him_. Suddenly, all the fog in his mind dissipates.

                “Oh… oh Derek. Give me half an hour and I’ll decide if I want to share that.”

                “You’re the boss, old man.”

                And they go back to watching the telly, but this time, Dan can barely focus. All he can feel is the radiation from Derek’s body, sat a few inches to his right. He struggles to breathe for a few moments.

                He would die soon. This he knew. He felt it in his old, withered bones. He hasn’t got long left. And if, after his passing, his grandchildren were to find out what happened, they wouldn’t have the whole story. What would be recounted to them would be an amateurish, patchworked version of events. A version that would maybe make sense to them, but wouldn’t make sense to Dan. It didn’t bear thinking of. If they were to find out, they’d find out from his lips. His and his alone.

                He’d finally decided. The adverts came on again as soon as they left, and Dan debated whether or not to turn the telly off. No. No he wouldn’t. The background noise would make his pauses less awkward. And there would be a lot of pauses.

                “Well, it was around Christmas…” he starts.

                Everyone startles. How long had he been silent for? But from the corner of his eye, he sees the way Derek’s eyes light up, and that’s all the encouragement he needs to continue.

                “It was around Christmas, and everyone in the apartment had been receiving invites to a shindig happening in the town hall on the 23rd. It was for our apartment block alone. I waited, in vain, for an RSVP to come through my door. It never happened. I knew me and my neighbour had had discrepancies, but I’d been nothing but amiable to everyone else in the block. I tried not to think about it.”

                His vocabulary had taken on that intellectual edge it sometimes did, when he was trying to tackle something he couldn’t properly articulate. Everyone in the room seemed to recognize this, Dan included. His grandchildren looked completely engrossed in what he was saying. There wasn’t a single sardonic glimmer of an eye to be seen. Kim had even turned the telly down a few notches. Dan was suddenly nervous. But, the show must go on. So it does.

                “So, the 23rd rolled around. I could hear everyone bustling around, preparing for it, talking to each other jovially. I felt sick. In that moment, I despised the lot of them. But as soon as I heard cars pull up and stilettos clicking down the stairs, someone chapped at my door.

                “I was so tempted to ignore it. These people had ostracised me, what did I owe them? But I did answer it. And I’m glad I did. If I hadn’t, it’d be the biggest regret of my life.” He gazes out the window for a bit, and tries to keep going.

                “When I opened it, guess who it was? Yep. _Him_. He was all suited up and trembling. Of course he got an invite to it. But anyway, I asked him, quite snappily, what he was doing at my door.

                “”I… I… w-wanted to…” and he was _stuttering_. This self-confident man who was rich enough to own a tailored suit, and he was stuttering in my presence! I must have looked so incredulous. But I waited patiently for him to spit it out.

                “He asked me if I wanted to go to the party with him, as his companion. Naturally, I asked why. He replied, and get this, that I was the only person in the complex he felt close to. Amazing what 10 minutes of cuddling under a bed does, eh? For some reason, I agreed. I didn’t even dress up, I just locked my door and went. No way in hell was I dressing up for those snooty bastards.

                “We walked together. It was cold, but walking with him, it didn’t bother me much. I asked him why I hadn’t initially been invited. He looked surprised, apparently he had no idea that they’d ignored me. ‘They’, I found out, were the couple who lived right above me. I don’t remember their names, but they’d organized the whole thing. And I, seemingly, was the only person they ‘forgot’ to invite.

                “When we arrived, I remember it went deadly silent. Everyone turned to stare at us. And the woman, one half of the couple, ran up to him and whispered something harsh in his ear. I couldn’t hear what she said, but I heard him reply “He’s my companion, I invited him.”

                “She stormed off in a huff. They had some awful DJ playing random tunes that were popular in the day, so we destroyed the buffet and then danced for a bit. It was strange, I was expecting there to be tension between us, considering our history. But we danced and sang and it felt more natural than anything that had occurred in my life before.

                “Eventually, I got tired and sat down, and my companion drifted into the crowd. I had a couple of drams, then tried to find him again. I stumbled my way through that awful crowd for what felt like hours. The songs melted and bled into each other, one melody seemed indistinguishable from the next… everyone was staring daggers at me. I eventually found him.”

                He pauses for a moment, not daring to look at any of the children before him.

                “He was dancing with that woman. The one who had ‘forgotten’ to invite me. He seen me, and I had seen him, and it was too late. I ran out of that hall, and he came running after me. I reached the bottom of the outside steps before he cried out to me. The air was crisp, my eyes were wet, and when I turned round to see him, I think I could have touched paradise. I waited for him to come down those stairs. For him to explain himself. ”I’m sorry,” he started, “she asked me to. I think she knew it was going to make you unhappy. I think that was the plan. But, I can never say no to anyone. That’s why I’m a bloody tax accountant, innit?”

                “You could still hear the music, sounding nebulous from the huge ballroom doors. And then he held me. And he said, “You’re the only person in that room I wanted to dance with. The only person in the world. Please?”

                “I felt intensely for him. And before that moment, because I wasn’t used to feeling so intensely about anything, I wrongly interpreted that feeling as hatred. But it wasn’t. I… I think I loved him. Or at least, I came to love him.

                “Anyway, we started dancing. And we kept dancing, even when the streetlights came on, even when the music stopped and the partygoers started flooding outside. I don’t remember what time we arrived home at. But when we did, he got a bunch of stuff from his apartment and started dumping it into mine – mostly his houseplants. Mostly cactuses. And then we slept together.”

                Dan exhales, letting go of a long breath that he felt he’d been holding since the start of the story. When he looks about him, all of them seem to be awestruck. The room was silent. The telly must have put itself on standby.

                “And then what?” Susie asks.

                “Well,” Dan startles, “I married him.”

                A silent ‘oh’ rings around the room. Quickly, Dan rises from the couch. “Wait there.”

                He comes back with a photo album.

                The page was still bookmarked from all those years ago. Dan opens it and then hands it out to them, averting his face.

                “I can’t bear to look at it.”

                He can hear them all clamouring around it, absorbing the images with the simple, loving clarity that only children can manage. They stay like that for a time.

                “His name was… Phil?”

                A small tear makes his way out of Dan’s cornea. He nods his head, solemnly.

                He hears the book getting shut, and someone hands it back to him. He whispers a thanks, and places it underneath the couch.

                “What happened to him?” Kim tries, tentatively.

                “I was 26 when we married. We spent 29 years together, and not a single argument happened between us since that night. He… he passed 16 years ago. I’m still not sure why. The autopsy was unclear. I… I…” God, he feels a raving fit coming on.

                “Hey, hey, pops, it’s okay,” Derek says. Dan smiles a bit at him, his eyes misty. He breathes for a bit.

                “So yeah. Yeah, that’s my story. I wanted you all to find out from me personally.”

                They all nod. They hug it out for a bit, and when 7PM comes around, they all go to leave. Only Derek lingers around.

                Derek, sweet, boisterous Derek. Derek, who was never without a witty quip. Derek, his Derek, and here he was, looking gravely towards his old grandpa. What could he say to him?

                “Uh, pops?” he says, and Dan nods, “I don’t think they understood the seriousness of what you told us tonight, but I think I did. And I wanted to thank you, for uh… sharing that. That, that must’ve been difficult.”

                Dan nods again and pulls him into a hug. He presses him close, and Dan can smell the apple shampoo he uses, the sweat coming from him, the faint hint of talcum powder. Wetness falls out of his eyes and onto his shirt.

                “Derek…” and his voice is hoarse. It cracks on the final syllable. God, please grant him the grace to live these next few moments. God, please. “Derek, take care of those two, alright? Promise you’ll take care of them…”

                He feels Derek tense slightly in his arms. “Of course pops, of course. I always will. Pops…” and he pulls back, face filled with concern. “Are you alright?”

                Dan cracks a grin and manages to stop his tears from flowing. There’s nothing sadder than an old man crying, he thinks. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just an emotional old man. Don’t mind me. Go on and get home, okay kid?”

                Derek assents, and leaves him with a kiss and a wave of his hand. The glowing feeling in Dan’s chest lasts all the way to his bedroom, till when he turns off the lights and tucks himself in. He doesn’t need to meditate tonight to realise his vessel is full.

                Dan dreams again that night. This time, it’s not of variegated scenery and his lover manifesting himself in different ways. This time, they’re just in the flat. They’re in their bedroom, and Phil is floating just above him, his crow eye’s winking at him.

                “Come,” and Phil’s voice arrives, in all its timbres and cadences, like that first time they ever met. “Come,” he says, “come with me.” He stretches out his hand, that pale hand, a gold ring shining against the skin. Dan grasps it. It’s soft and homely, and Dan never wants to let go.

                So he doesn’t. He goes. And his eyes don’t open when morning comes.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh?
> 
> Thanks for reading. I'm incredibly proud of this one. I hope you enjoyed too, trooparinos.


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